Colour
by hopefuldawn
Summary: "The final product was a shade of Violet, almost too bright for the Deep Blue and the Fiery Red. But somehow, with the impact, another colour was formed, incomplete without the others." Canada-centric American Revolution. My first upload on . More on my DeviantArt account.


_It had started as a white canvas, a fresh clean sheet of paper._

He had been there on the day of the Massacre. Just a casual passer-by, a nameless entity, a face that seems familiar for an instant but is forgotten again with the next blink of the eyes. It had started as a normal day for him. But in a sudden turn, he had seen words escalate to gunshots, not sure who had fired first. He had seen the streets run red with blood.

_Then there was Red. Red everywhere._

Red was the colour Arthur word during his visits, trying his best to tempt the Canadian to stick with him, if not fight. A small part of Matthew felt guilty, silently and secretly thrilled that his brother was finally coming to see him more often, despite the circumstances.

Red was the colour Arthur's face would become whenever Alfred was mentioned. Whether it was from anger, irritation, or pain, Matthew could not tell. Despite his ability to normally be able to read the atmosphere, the Englishman's mood swings merely gave the Canadian a headache. Mattie would listen to the other's rants, pleas, offers, and jests, each word laced with an addicting poison that was almost irresistible and impossible to ignore. Britain would stop at nothing to convince the Canadiens not to ally with the Patriots. But Matthew hesitated not for the offer of religious tolerance, or the promises that Britain was offering. Britain was trying to lure the Canadiens to loyalty; Arthur was looking for someone to turn to and someone he could trust. It was a sense of duty and responsibility that kept him with the Englishman.

Red stained Alfred's clothes and body, cuts, burns, and welts marring his skin day after day. Despite the politics, and the inescapable reality that he was going against his caretaker's orders, Matthew continually let Alfred into his room, helping to take care of the cocky Revolutionist. The Patriot seemed to wear his marks with honour, proud of each flaw the rebellion added to his body.

_Blue began to rise against the Red, a contrast of colours that should have seemed semi-harmonious, but clashed heatedly at each meeting both over land and sea._

Blue took arms against the Red, with only the sounds of a light breeze, flying metal, and shouts of victory and defeat between them.

Blue eyes flashed in the darkness that night, the evening proceeding that fateful day in Boston. They blazed bright with fiery passion as Alfred spoke of freedom and Britain's oppression. Those blue eyes pleaded with Matthew, begging him to understand, to stand with him, to become free.

Other shades of Blue joined the fray, two major ones nearly disgusting him. First was a powder blue he would recognize anywhere, a shade of blue that broke his heart, and yet he still felt loyal to. The French in him was further tempted to join with his twin, seeing the monarchy himself help to train the American Colonists, long hair only partially secured back in a ribbon. The Prussian Blue had been mildly surprising, making the Canadian question the different alliances Arthur still believed he had. Matthew knew that it was Gilbert that had originally left most of the welts on Alfred, shaping the colony into a warrior.

_The canvas was changing, the colours clashing against each other in a chaotic storm._

Mattie despised it.

All of it.

Wars were always unpleasant, the scars never disappearing and always leaving a divide behind. The people may forget, but the nation never would.

The shot heard 'round the world had created a divide that would be almost impossible to mend, and as he watched the people slaughter soldiers, and soldiers murder the innocent, he knew no one would be innocent.

_He tried to wipe the canvas, tried to make the colours at least blend together. But he only ended up staining his own hands._

Britain had always taken pride in his colonies. 13 of them were Alfred's. As History went on, Mattie would sigh and gradually accept that most would recognize his brother before he was thought of. After over 300 years, he was more than used to it. But for those years, he and his people were a deciding factor.

Mattie had 7 major British colonies at that point- Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, New Brunswick, Port Royal, Rupert's Land, and Quebec, who was still more or less French at its heart.

Matthew was an odd part of his development. Part of him was still loyal to France, Catholicism a large part of his heart. But Arthur was a good older brother, and he recognized that. The Brit had many other colonies to care for, and Canada understood how busy the green-eyed nation was.

Mattie had patience that Al never had.

His family was being torn apart.

His twin was becoming a warrior, someone that would die for Freedom without a moment's hesitation.

His caretaker was acting cold, his attentions divided among his many other siblings and trying to care for them all.

If Matthew could have arranged it, he would have sat them both down and forced them to an agreement.

_But both Red and Blue were stubborn and thick-headed, both too proud and independent to listen to reason._

Both of them were demanding his support, asking for his help. His first instinct was immediately to ally with Alfred.

Al had been there since the beginning.

Al had seen the wide open fields, had been carried bareback with him over hundreds of miles. He had taught Al fishing and Al taught him how to properly shoot a bow. The two had only each other to rely on for centuries before the Europeans had come.

In the end, Canada lay in the fate of its people. And they were just as divided as he was.

He waited. And he fought.

Mattie ended up playing Britain, gaining religious tolerance for at least Quebec. The inner Frenchman in him sneered with pride at the fact, content that England still recognized that the Canadiens were a force to be feared. As for America...

Instead of bending over to his brother's wishes, Matthew played Alfred as well. But unlike his tactic with the British Empire, Canada fought.

Waiting had been a pain, his impatience nearly as bad as Al's could be at times. But Matthew had been taught by the best, and he waited.

His main plan for Al was for the Americans to dominate his own militiamen, more or less forcing the Canadiens to join in the Revolution.

What no one had anticipated was how stubborn Mattie's people could be. And no one ever expected him to be completely devoted to his own self-preservation.

But politics are politics after all.

Matthew Williams wore two uniforms back then. One was Rouge, the other Bleu.

At first, he had been completely broken by the betrayals within his family. France had essentially left him to Britain, Britain was entirely taken in and devoted to the American colonies, and America!-

Despite everything that would come between them, Matthew would always hold Alfred in the highest regard. But America was unpredictable, brash, rude, nosy, obnoxious, and so caught up in becoming independent that it nearly cancelled out Alfred.

Matthew watched as his brother changed.

_And the Blue darkened, Black slowly seeping in and transforming the once clear surface into something more morbid._

Mattie didn't have to see the tea in Boston for the image to form itself vividly in his conscience. He could see the Blue waters darkening with the stain of the leaves, painting the Harbour a darker shade of Blue than ever before.

Red was the colour he wore in Montreal, fighting to protect his city. Red stained Fort Sainte-Jean. Red lingered in Quebec, the snowy end of the year marred by blood and death. Red was his irritation with his brothers, who had forced his hand and involvement in a war he preferred to keep himself out of.

Red was the colour he saw again the following evening when Alfred tried to convince him to march South with him. Matthew's head became Red after he realized he had agreed, his stupidity leading to an abrupt slap to his own face. Red eyes would meet him when he would shave the next morning, realizing that once again, he was taking action in a war that was not his own.

Blue became his life yet again. Blue was the colour his uniform would become as he joined his twin on his foolish quest. Blue eyes shone with happiness and relief as the Canadian joined his twin's forces, claiming Yorktown from the Red. Blue was the colour of the sky on the day that the "rebellion" finally ended, and America was finally an independent nation.

Canada went home soon after, there to pick up the pieces of the now broken-hearted Empire that had just lost one of the most important things to ever enter his life.

_Red was broken, Blue stealing the pieces and leaving an empty frame behind._

Matthew watched as Alfred's nation developed, a New World started and Freedom, Liberty, Happiness, and Justice promised to all. The Canadian fell back to his own border, more than content with Britain watching over him. Arthur viewed him with mutual respect, and Matthew was perfectly fine with helping the Englishman try to get back on his feet.

_Red was determined, driven by pride and irritation. Blue was resilient, overcoming any obstacles to become as strong as possible._

Soon after, a different war began between the two, America livid that Britain and France were interrupting his trade routes. Matthew would have gladly sat this one out. He was tired. The dull ache from seeing his family tear apart was rekindled, and this was the last thing he wanted.

But then Canada became a battleground. Matthew, for one of the first times, felt the pain of his people suffering; the marks of war that had littered Alfred's body now marred his own.

Arthur convinced him to wear Red, the Canadian taking arms and officially allying himself with the British Empire. And suddenly, once again, there was Red everywhere.

Red was the colour of the jacket he wore. Red was the colour of the burns that littered his skin. Red was the colour of Washington on that fateful day in 1814. Red was the colour of Alfred's face as the two argued later that evening, when Matthew successfully passed into American lines to see if his brother was still lucid.

As he sat there, tending to his twin's wounds, wounds that no human doctor could ever truly mend, he finally came to a realization.

_Red and Blue aren't different at all._

America and England were the same. They had the same ideals, the same stubbornness, the same cockiness. They were both proud, strong, and afraid of nothing. Neither liked to be dominated, and both strove for what was best for their people. They were nearly one and the same, but both were too thick-headed to see it.

_Eventually Red and Blue ceased fighting, merging together to form a deep, unbreakable Purple._

Mattie had always been close to Al, no matter what the world around them was like. It didn't matter whose control they were under. It didn't matter who their Bosses were. Canada and America were brothers, their border just a line between them, a door-frame that was easy to cross. Mattie still spent a lot of time with Arthur, even keeping the British government partially in control of his government.

At times the Canadian envies the respect and bond that the American and the Englishman shared. But not a day passes that he doesn't remember the long struggle it took for the Alliance to form.

_There were still moments when the image would shift, Red and Blue once again struggling for dominance._

Matthew was used to being overlooked by his fellow naitons. He didn't participate in the struggle for nearly as long as the others. He tried to avoid trouble, Alfred not making it an easy task. Mattie could say that he was happy that his slate was still mostly clean, not taking into account the days before Sweden, Norway, and Denmark came to visit.

_If you look closely at the picture, you can still see the original canvas shining through the Blues and the Red._

The American Revolution hadn't been entirely about Alfred, and he sincerely wished that people would remember that. Canada had been a large part of the dispute, his territories becoming a battleground for Red and Blue to both try to claim him. And even though he had to play them both, it had ensured the safety of his people.

After all, that's what being a nation was really about.

As much as it pained him, Matthew lived to protect his people. But unlike some of the others, he made sure to protect his family. For the most part, he was gentle, and couldn't be bothered with many things. But at the end of the day…

_Despite the clash of the Red and the Blue, the White of the canvas was the stage. It was the White that helped to keep one from destroying the other._

He had always felt terrible for it, but Matthew was manipulative. He played several cards throughout the years to keep Alfred and Arthur from destroying each other, and to try to maintain the peace and alliance that was between the two.

But he could never forget.

_The canvas had mostly been white. Here and there were scattered droplets of Pale Blue, contrasting with a Bold Red that demanded attention. The lighter was soon faded, to the point of almost disappearing, the Red dominating the page and claiming all devotion._

_But then a different Blue- bolder, darker, sharper- entered the frame, adding a deep contrast to the bright Red that had attempted to take over._

_The two colours swirled together, leaving a permanent impact and stain on the otherwise pristine canvas. Other shades joined the fray, leaving a variety of colour that nearly completely obscured the white._

_With time, the canvas was often forgotten, often overlooked. The main concern was always the symphony of colour and fire with which they joined. The canvas was often forgotten, overlooked and deemed unimportant by most._

Canada had played both sides. Call him manipulative or selfish. He wouldn't care. He did his duty for his people. He did what he could for his brothers. No matter what, Matthew Williams was devoutly loyal to his family. He did what was necessary to protect them, no matter the cost to himself. He's become used to being overlooked in his role with his brother's independence, with his role as remaining loyal to Arthur.

_The final product was a shade of Violet, almost too bright for the Deep Blue and the Fiery Red. But somehow, with the impact, another colour was formed, incomplete without the others._

The people may forget, but a nation never forgets.

That is his curse. To never forget how his people got to where they are. To always remember the burns on his chest, the scars on his back. The quiet Canadian carries a whole history with him, a history that is quite easily forgotten, usually overlooked by others.

But if you ever get the chance to look, you can see it painted in his Violet eyes.


End file.
